


because dreaming costs money, my dear

by taoslefteyelid



Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Canon Universe, Cigarette mention, M/M, Post Zitao Leaving, Songfic, TaoHun - Freeform, basically like nothing goes as planned, emo me being emo, except im not 13, mitski - Freeform, pls listen to this song i'll link it for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoslefteyelid/pseuds/taoslefteyelid
Summary: "darling, play your violinwe will manage somehow"
Relationships: Huang Zi Tao | Z.Tao/Oh Sehun
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	because dreaming costs money, my dear

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! here's a quick little [song ficlet](https://open.spotify.com/track/2DWf9b143xSKlm7ZWn4nVP?si=6y4iyA4sSUyNHp768pjs8Q) bc i was in the mood for it today sajdkkaj. i hope you enjoy!

_ i can still smell the fire _

_ though i know it's long died out _

It is one of those nights, and Sehun wonders if Zitao can hear his thoughts, like he has wondered a million times before. 

_ Text me, _ he thinks. His phone doesn’t buzz though, effectively disproving any telepathy they may have. Zitao always does what Sehun asks of him. 

So Zitao doesn’t text him, probably because it’s 2 am and Sehun shouldn’t be awake in the first place, and Zitao is just an hour ahead, and Sehun stares at the fan on the ceiling. It’s probably too cold to have it on, but Sehun does anyway. Zitao doesn’t text him, and Sehun looks plaintively at the fan rotate aimlessly, blankets crushing him. 

_ the smoke still hangs in my hair _

_ and on some quiet evenings it burns my eyes _

He turns absently on his side, and wonders if he still has that pack of cigarettes in his bedside drawer. Sehun hasn’t smoked in a few months now. It was relatively easy for him to make the decision to quit, considering he barely smoked in the first place. 

He wonders if Zitao would quit if Sehun asked him to. 

_ so darling, play your violin _

_ i know it's what you live for _

He knows Zitao would’ve stayed if Sehun asked him to. 

They were lying in the same bed that Sehun is in right now, when Zitao had made his decision to leave. Sehun rolls over. 

Zitao had stared at him, Sehun remembers, and he’d cried, and he’d begged Sehun to tell him not to go, and Sehun had cried the same way and held him while he explained that he couldn’t, he couldn’t. 

Sehun doesn’t know if that was worse than the glassiness in Zitao’s eyes when he’d finally stopped crying. The limpness in Zitao’s hand when he’d gone to grip it had terrified him, and by the time Zitao had mumbled something along the lines of “talk to me, please,” Sehun had cried twice.

Sehun always does what Zitao asks of him, but he’s not as good at it as Zitao is.

_ darling, play your violin _

_ we will manage somehow _

Instead of talking, he’d sung.

_ i once lived in the sea _

_ bring me to your ear, you can hear _

_ the tide where i used to be _

Sehun wonders how they even made it past the first few days, when Sehun would forget about timezones and call Zitao at a time too late or a time too early, and he wonders how they made it past Zitao calling him at 3 am by the sea, sobbing, mumbling about home or Sehun or maybe both, because they’re the same thing. 

Sehun wonders a lot. 

_ though now i'm but a shell _

_ oh, baby _

_ don't say sorry _

Sehun thinks that even if he enlisted the help of everyone he has ever loved in his life to help him count how many times Zitao has apologised for deciding what he did when he did, they’d still not get halfway through the number. 

“Sorry,” Zitao had whispered, head in Sehun’s lap as he cried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

And Sehun had sung.

_ darling, play your violin _

_ i know it's what you live for _

“There’s nothing you love more than music, is there?”, Sehun had asked as they sat on the beach in Qingdao, waiting for it to get dark so they could light a lantern and maybe quietly hold hands. Zitao had been humming happily all day, eyes bright and fixed on Sehun as if they were afraid to miss anything. 

Zitao blinked, as if for the first time that evening. 

“There are a lot of things,” he whispered, fingers making their way across the sand towards Sehun’s. Sehun pretended he couldn’t see them, but inched his hand closer too. 

“Food doesn’t count,” Sehun laughed. “Neither does the sea.” 

Two fingers laid over Sehun’s hand. 

“Fine, one thing then.” 

Sehun turned to Zitao staring at him, and he already knew what the answer was, but he asked anyway. 

“What?”

“You.” 

_ darling, play your violin _

_ we will manage somehow _

The ceiling fan seems to slow down as Sehun considers how Zitao puts him above what he lives for, and his fingers twitch as he remembers the responsibility he has. 

He sings, to the creaking of the fan, hoping that it will reach Zitao, somehow. 

_ don't dare regret anything _

_ remember what you're here for, you _

It is too late and too early at the same time, and Sehun sings, and he misses Zitao, and it is one of those nights, just him in bed with the weight of too many blankets and a creaky fan. He sings, and he sings, and he sings.

_ just play your violin _

_ we will manage somehow _

Sehun’s phone buzzes. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for taking the time to read! have a lovely day, and i hope everything is soft to you today.  
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hztwsx) and also on [Tumblr](https://hztwsx.tumblr.com/).  
> (for similar emo themes but in an au and also a lot longer, check out [two slow dancers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524833))
> 
> also, don't smoke.


End file.
